


blink

by kthonos



Series: short stories [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Ableism, Creepy, Dissociation, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10062095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kthonos/pseuds/kthonos
Summary: it's about a guy who lives by himself and has hallucinations, and avoids the people in town because they treat him like shit. i wrote this in like 30 minutes and didn't edit it lmao





	

**Author's Note:**

> _When stalking its next meal, a predator will separate one animal from the herd to weaken it before going for the kill._

The birds have been gathering on the telephone wires for weeks now. Every so often, I look out the window and there are more of those little dark shapes strung up against the sky than there were the last time I checked.

I go about my business anyway.

It's unnerving, but so what. No one around here cares if I'm unnerved. I learned that lesson the hard way.

The radio is more static than sound, nowadays. I remember driving out to the lake with my parents when I was a boy, listening to the music fade in and out amongst the waves of white noise while the sun beat down relentlessly through the windows of our old station wagon. For years, I've listened to the same radio station, playing dusty old country tunes as I work on whatever junker someone's brought me, but lately I can barely make out the sound of the steel-string guitar beneath all the static. It gets worse every day, every time I turn it on.

I find another channel.

Blues, rock'n'roll. Nineties pop hits. Local college radio. All of them, covered up by the tide of encroaching static. It takes less time with every new station.

I walk into town sometimes, to get groceries and talk to anyone who'll listen. That's always been a short list. They scuff their boots, make their excuses. They move on. I walk back to my home in the creeping twilight, returning to my haven of silence and occasional white noise.

I've always seen bugs crawling on the walls around me, on tables and chairs. In my skin. I stopped questioning it. So did my parents, although it took more than one ruined lake trip for them to accept that I can't go near deep water anymore either. Something about it draws me in, and I see - _things_ \- moving in its depths. No one else sees them. I know that. I blink my eyes and they go away. I blink my eyes, and my parents drive us back into town, my two sisters and me - my two sisters and their freak of a brother, who left school in the ninth grade to avoid getting beaten up twice a day, because it sure didn't help with the hallucinations.

I blink. The birds on their wires caw down at me. The crackled surface of the pavement is crusted in shit.

I blink. The radio must've been left on; I hear the static hissing from somewhere out back, behind the garage.

I blink again and shut my door behind me. The orange bottles lined up on the counter are all empty; so are the brown ones scattered on the floor and shattered in the sink. It's a good thing I got more today.

I wake up.

The birds outside are laughing at me. They can see the insects crawling inside my skin, infesting my brain. I blink them away and take another drink.

I wake up.

The days all blur together, when times are bad. Empty brown bottles. Some clunker in the garage, waiting for the radio to click on, for me to take a look under the hood. I wake up. I drink. I find more little orange bottles somewhere, and empty them all. I turn off the radio. I turn it back on. I blink. The birds are gathering like stormclouds before a twister now. I blink. I wake up.

I go for another walk to town.

The alcohol stinks on my breath, on my clothing. Nothing in my home is clean. I am unclean. I know it, I see it in their faces when they look at me, the spittle-covered wretch who lives in the woods and never sees a soul except for times like these. The staggering drunk. I blink.

I set my feet back on the road heading out of town. My eyes are open, staring straight ahead; they feel wobbly, disconnected from my head. I'm avoiding looking up, I'm tired of being jeered at, and these damn birds won't leave me alone. They never leave me alone. The worn toe of my boot catches on a crack in the sidewalk. I follow the longest cracks home, running downhill like a river flowing down to the lake where the deep-things wait. I ignore the eyes watching me from the trees. No one cares what I say. No one cares what I think. I blink. I lock the door behind me and collapse on the floor. My eyes seem to follow behind my head, floating down through me.

The radio clicks on in the other room and abruptly fills the room with an old, old song; swing, I think, something from the Roaring Twenties. The sun has set behind the glass pane of my window. The birds are louder, now, screaming in chorus outside. I blink. The eyes outside get closer. I'm being watched again. I blink. The static is still hissing through the radio, underneath the swing music, where they think I can't hear it. I blink. None of it goes away. Why won't it go away? I blink. I fumble for the bag I carried home with me, for the carton of brown bottles hiding in the bottom. I take a long drink. The noise is incredible, a cacophony, some kind of horrible orchestra playing just for me. I blink. I blink. The eyes are in front of me now. I blink.

I go to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway yeah uh. that town totally got taken over by some nasty monsters
> 
> protect mentally ill folks, yall, dont discount what we say or turn your backs on us when we need help just bc we experience the world differently than you do
> 
> im not here to preach and this story isnt exactly the type to end with a moral but i feel like it needs to be said


End file.
